


Renewed Shall Be Blade That Was Broken

by PirateOwl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Excalibur, F/M, Post-Dark Swan Arc, king!killian, reluctantly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateOwl/pseuds/PirateOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the course of trying to save Emma, Killian draws the sword from the stone and sort of accidentally becomes king of Camelot. Kilian has to adjust to his new position, which Emma embraces wholeheartedly because she wants a new crisis rather than truly having to deal with the aftermath of the Dark Swan arc. Mostly humor and adventure and romance with a bit of hurt/comfort in the form of rebuilding relationships hurt by the Dark Swan. (Spoiler warning: I am starting the story right after watching 5.04, but I use whatever spoilers fit with the story, including certain set pictures.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Startled King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qqueenofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qqueenofhades/gifts), [bemusedbicycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/gifts).



> All that is gold does not glitter,  
> Not all those who wander are lost;  
> The old that is strong does not wither,  
> Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
> 
> From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
> A light from the shadows shall spring;  
> Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
> The crownless again shall be king.  
> \- J.R.R. Tolkien

Killian drew the sword, Emma helped reforge it, and together they put an end to the Dark One once and for all. But there are still the echoes, the things she did under its influence and Emma doesn’t want to face the town just yet.

Her first instinct was to run but she realized she didn’t want to. Not unless Killian was running with her. So they wander instead, down the beach. Not to the docks, people would expect them there. They just wander out, arm in arm, away from Storybrooke, away from all the people she will have to face sooner or later.

“I love you,” Killian says after a long stretch of silence.

“After everything I did? To the town, to my parents, to Henry, to you. Killian, I…” she takes a deep breath, fighting back tears. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t say things like that Love,” he says, stopping and turning to face her. “I’m not saying the last few months haven’t been difficult, not because of anything the Dark Swan did, but because I _missed_ you. I don’t begrudge a chance to help you find your way back to the light after a few months of darkness. It’s just my way of thanking you for doing the same for me after three hundred years. Undoubtedly yours was the far more difficult task.”

She stares at him silently, reading his sincerity in his face. He takes her hand in his, twining their fingers together.

“Emma, I love you. Nothing you, or the Dark One, or anyone else can ever do will change that. And I promised myself that I ever got a chance to tell you, the real _you_ , I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.”

Emma blinks back tears and leans in to kiss him. It is slow and sweet and full of all the longing and loneliness of three months apart and all the relief of knowing that has come to an end. After a long time she pulls back, staring at him. “I meant it,” she says finally “I didn’t just say it because I thought I wouldn’t get another chance.” She gives a teary laugh. “I mean, no, I didn’t think I would, and that did give me the push to actually say what I had been trying to get the nerve to say for weeks. I love you.”

Killian smiles. “And no curses are going to get between us,” he says seriously.

Emma snorts. “Have you _met_ my family? Curses get in the way of love every other week, we just don’t let them stop us.”

“They _do_ appear to have to find each other fairly frequently,” Killian agreed with a grin.

“Finding people is easy,” Emma says. “What you did was much harder. You helped me find myself.”

“Aye. And I always will. It’s no more than you did for me when I was still a villain Love.”

“How did you do it?” Emma asks as they turn and walk further down the shore arm in arm. “Come back from the darkness?”

“I had help,” he points out with a smile.

“I don’t just mean coming back from the darkness though. I mean, how do I deal with the town? With my family?”

“Aye, there you have the advantage on me Love. I had an uphill battle to convince people I had changed. All you have to do is show that that you’re the same woman, the same mother, daughter, Savior they know and love.”

“How do I do that?” she asks.

“Just be yourself Emma. Your parents and Henry will just be relieved to have you back. You know they will.  Belle has been known to willfully ignore _much_ worse things than anything the Dark Swan ever did to her. As for Rumplestiltskin and Regina, well, I think both of them have a vested interest in believing that people should get a second chance after turning away from their inner darkness, an interest I will certainly remind them of if they forget.”

“And what about everybody else?”

“They’ll tolerate you because you’re connected to the royal family of sheriffs. Then they’ll get used to having you around. Then they’ll start relying on you, just like old times. At least that’s how it worked with me.”

They walk until they reach the town line painted carefully by the dwarves, even out here away from the road.

 “Hail to the king!” a voice shouts as they near town.

Killian has his new sword out of the scabbard and raised even before the answering voices reply “Long live the king!”

He is half expecting to find the Knights of the Round Table flanking King Arthur but they aren’t. They are kneeling but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. He looks around trying to figure it out. Emma starts laughing, like it is just the funniest thing in the world. It’s good to see her laugh like this, especially after everything, and he finds himself chuckling along with her even without getting the joke.

“What?” he asks finally.

“My… life…” she chokes out through her laughter. “Apparently… wasn’t weird enough. Do you know how Arthur became king?”

Killian shakes his head.

“By pulling the sword, _that_ sword, from the stone.” She bursts out in another fit of laughter.

Killian actually drops the sword in surprise. “Please tell me you’re joking Love,” he says, picking it up again.

“Like I said. Dating Captain Hook isn’t weird enough. Apparently I am now dating the new king of Camelot. Long live the king,” she adds with a grin.

“Ummm…” he tries to lead her a little ways away to talk but his entourage gets up to follow. “Give us a minute would you?”

“As you command Your Majesty,” their leader says with a deep bow, stepping back away from them.

“My life is weird enough,” he assures Emma when they had walked a little way away.

“You don’t _have_ to be the king I guess,” she says. “But you would make a good king. And as long as we are in Storybrooke being royalty mostly requires you to save the town occasionally. Which you already do.”

“I don’t like kings,” Killian insists.

“You don’t know any kings. Except Arthur.” She frowns in thought for a second. “Okay. I can see why he would turn you off of the whole idea.”

“You forget, I served a king once.”

“An experience you learned from. Don’t send your navy to Neverland and you should be fine.”

“I would have a navy?” Killian asks.

“I don’t even know if Camelot has an ocean. That is probably something you should find out before you make up your mind. We can ask my parents what they know about this.”

“Aye,” Killian says, glancing skeptically over his shoulder at the people who believe they are his subjects. “Perhaps they can help me convince Camelot that I am not a king.” But he also knows that this is the first time Emma has assumed speaking to her parents is a good idea, so it can’t be all bad. But that doesn’t make being king a good idea.

* * *

 

They make their way back to Snow and David’s apartment eventually and keep running into people who believe they are his subjects. He keeps shoeing them away, which is a lot easier said than done.

“Can I take you up on that offer to just flee Storybrooke altogether?” he asks after a dozen or so well-meaning people start bowing to him in the street.

Emma is actually relieved. It takes some of the pressure off of her if all eyes are on the possibly new king. As it stands people are more interested his current status as king than her previous status as the Dark One. Storybrooke has a short memory.

“You had very good reasons why that was a bad idea,” she reminds him. “And I have no idea if we would still turn into trees. Let the dwarves figure out the town line. Most of the time it’s you bringing me home. My turn.” She walks purposefully toward the front door, trying to remind herself that they were perfectly good reasons not to just run away with Killian.

Henry must have spotted them heading up the street because he runs through the door, throwing his arms around Emma. Her parents and Regina follow him outside.

 “Long Live the King!” someone shouts.

Killian rests his hand on the small of Emma’s back and guides her inside so everyone else will follow, hopefully before they notice the people trying to bow to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma whispers. “I never meant… I’m so sorry.”

“None of that matters,” David assures her. “We’re just glad to have you back.”

“You _are_ back, right?” Regina asks, more practically than the others.

“Yes. I’m back,” Emma answers. Her parents and Henry are all folded around her in a hug.

“Which is exactly what the Dark One would say,” Regina points out.

“Regina!” Snow objects.

“No, she’s right,” Emma admits. “I know it will take time for you to believe me, if you even can.”

“Which is definitely _not_ what the Dark One would say,” Killian says confidently.

 “Are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Regina asks. Emma freezes, wondering which thing she did counts for that. “Or I should say the king in the room. Why did several people just shout ‘Long live the king’?”

“Right,” Killian says. He is glad to take some of the pressure off Emma, but there has to be an easier way to do that. “That. They are under the impression that I am the new king of Camelot.”

“Awesome!” Henry says.

“Are they right?” Snow asks. She moves across the room and picks up the baby.

“Technically, I think, according to their laws, yes. But I haven’t decided if I am going to accept the job. I’m no king and I don’t think ‘because the sword says so,’ is any basis for royalty.”

“It’s better than strange women lying in ponds,” Henry said.

“That’s a form of government?” Regina asked.

“What? Did _no_ one else watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail as soon as Camelot came to town?”

“You weren’t exactly using it for research purposes,” David says with a smile.

Henry wrinkles his nose. “You have cursed memories so you know what people expect from Prince Charming,” he says defensively. “I had to catch Violet up on what this realm expects of Camelot. I mean, I made sure Killian watched Peter Pan.”

“Aye. That he did. A memory curse later and I _still_ haven’t been able to forget that travesty.”

David grins.

“It’s not like everyone was born into royalty,” Emma points out, bringing them back around to Killian’s possible kingdom. As long as they move forward to this situation, maybe she won’t have to dwell on the crisis that just wrapped up. That is how Storybrooke always deals with a previous crisis, by finding a new one.

“I married into a throne,” Regina says.

“And then took over,” Snow points out.

“I was swindled into it by the Dark One,” David says. “I was supposed to masquerade as a prince for a few days, a week at most. I mean, later I married into it, but before that I was being blackmailed by the district attorney.”

“I was actually born into it,” Snow says. “Which, come to think of it, may be no more reasonable than the rest of the ways.”

“Actually, fighting so save somebody and defeat an evil that is older than any of us, including you, is not a _bad_ way to gain a throne,” Henry points out reasonably. “And what do you mean you don’t know if you are going to take the job?

“I’m a pirate Lad,” Killian replies. “Or I was. I’m not exactly cut out for a throne.”

Henry waves a hand dismissively. “Mom didn’t think she was cut out to be the Savior. Or a mom. Sometimes what _you_ think you’re qualified for doesn’t matter.”

“We’ll see,” Killian says noncommittally.

* * *

 

“It’s late and it’s a school night,” Regina says after a while. “We should be getting home.” She puts a hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d stay here tonight,” he says.

“I don't think…” she began but Snow intercedes.

“He'll be with us,” she says softly. She doesn't say _We can keep an eye on Emma_ , but the implication is there.

“Very well,” Regina says, clearly not happy with the arrangement but accepting it. “Remember, you have school tomorrow so don’t stay up too late.”

Killian steps out in the hall to talk to Regina. “She trusts you, Your Majesty,” Killian says. He says it quietly but it strikes her harder than a harsh rebuke would.

Regina froze. “You _know_ what she did.”

“Aye. And I know what I’ve done. And some of what you’ve done. And so does Emma.”

“That was years ago,” Regina says archly.

“Not when she first gave us a chance. Give her some of the same.”

Regina sighs. She doesn't argue, but doesn't promise anything either.

Killian returns to the loft after she leaves. Emma is talking quietly to Henry, and Snow is trying to get Neal to sleep, leaving David and Killian a chance to talk.

“So, king of Camelot?” David asks with a grin.

 “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you mate?”

“A bit,” David agrees.

“I know you were friends with Arthur,” Killian says.

David snorts. “I thought I was. But he was playing me, here and in Camelot, giving me a fake seat just to get me to support him.”

“It’s not a fake seat. He may have given it to you under false pretenses, but you are still a knight of the round table and that still means something.”

“You think so?” David asks. “I think a new king would get to pick his own knights.”

“Aye. Maybe _you_ should be the king,” Killian suggests hopefully. “You’re already part of the round table. You’re already royalty.”

“Oh no. I already have a kingdom more or less. Actually between me and Snow we have two kingdoms. You aren’t pawning your broken kingdom off on me. You want to pawn something, try Gold’s shop.”

Kilian rolls his eyes. “I can’t sell Camelot to Rumplestiltskin. I don’t want it but I can’t do that to them. I am well aware that he is no longer the Dark One,” he admits. “But still…”

David stares down at the sword sitting on the table and at the names inscribed on it, his and Emma’s names, side by side. “Maybe the kingdom is meant for you.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I’ll let you keep Siege Perilous,” Killian accuses.

“In my defense it’s a comfortable chair.”

“Aye. _If_ I accept the throne, you can keep the comfortable chair.”

“Fair enough. You can hide on the couch tonight if you want,” David says.  He glances over at Emma, still deep in conversation with Snow. “I would hate for your new subjects to ambush you in the dark.”

He is loath to leave Emma’s side, and also loath to run into the people of Camelot on his way back to his ship, so he gladly accepts the prince’s offer.

* * *

 

He wakes in the night to the creaking of floorboards.

“Don't try to sneak past a pirate on a wooden floor,” he says quietly. “I know the sound.”

Emma freezes. “I couldn't sleep,” she says with a sigh. He sits up as she makes her way over to the couch. “I haven't slept for three months so I'm out of practice. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“I don’t mind.” He gestures for her to have a seat. “I’ve had my share of sleepless nights Love. When I first went to Neverland time, you were there briefly, you know how strange time can be there. Not exactly conducive to a good night’s rest even under the best of circumstances and I was hardly at my best. And not sleeping is always somehow...”

“Lonely,” she says quietly. She curls up on the couch, leaning against his shoulder. “Mind if I stay until I get tired?”

“As you wish,” he murmurs, pulling the blanket around her too. “Stay as long as you want.”

“Mmm,” she says tiredly, leaning against him.

* * *

 

The smell of bacon and a beautiful woman stirring by his side is by far Killian's favorite way to wake up. He is fairly certain it is objectively the best. David and Snow are in the kitchen, talking quietly. Emma opens her eyes and blinks in the bright morning light.

“Getting the hang of sleeping again Love?” he asks her quietly.

“Yeah.” She smiles sleepily. “You?”

“Never said I was out of the hang of it.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Aye. Though not as out of practice as you perhaps.” He kisses her on the forehead.

“How do you take your eggs?” Snow asks.

He is a little confused by the question. For basically his whole life he has always taken them scrambled by the ship’s cook or Granny. He is aware, in a vague sort of way, that there are other options, and theoretically perhaps his mother had fixed them some other way, but for that was a ridiculously long time ago.

“Chef’s discretion,” he replies, really having no idea how he prefers them.

“Okay. I’ll give you several. Let me know which you like best,” Snow directs him.

“Thank you, m’lady,” he says seriously, at least as much for the fact that she considers his preference important to learn than for the eggs. She clearly intends for him to dine at her table more often.

It’s strange sitting down with the family for breakfast. He isn’t sure exactly when they decided to accept him as one of their own but he is certain they have.

“Can I stay home from school?” Henry asks. “I think my teacher would understand,” he adds, grinning at Snow. “I mean, I just got my mom back.” Killian has a pretty good read on Henry by now and suspects the boy is trying to use that as an excuse, not that he actually believe it should work.

“Didn’t you use up your lifetime allotment of ‘my mother is back’ hooky during Operation Cobra?” Emma asks.

“He did,” Snow agrees. “And if we let you out of school every time a lost member of your family was found, or a cursed member of your family was freed, the school would probably owe _you_ days.”

“Besides,” Emma adds, “I need to figure out where Arthur went.”

“Are you sure?” Snow asks, glancing sidelong at David. “Don’t you need some time off after… everything?”

“I need to _do_ something,” Emma says. “I was the Savior, then I was the Dark One, and now I don’t know what I am. I need to do some _good_. Unless…” she hesitates. “Unless you don’t want me to.” _Unless you don’t trust me._ Killian can hear it clearly even though Emma, this Emma, _his_ Emma, doesn’t want to force their answer by asking. He takes her hand beneath the table, reminding her silently that he does trust her, that he is here, that he wants her by his side.

“I’ll be glad to have you back at the station,” David says. “It’s been empty without you. And I can use all the help I can get. How about you Killian, want to help us hunt a king?”

“Can I make him take back his kingdom?” Killian asks with mock hope. Henry laughs.

“No,” Emma says with mock seriousness. “You cannot give the kingdom back to the man who brainwashed them.”

“Fine. I’ll help find him anyway. He should answer for leaving me saddled with it anyway. I just need to drop the sword off at my ship so it doesn’t encourage the rumors and pick up a few books from Belle.” Then he added in a mumble “aboutmynewkingdom.”

Emma grabs her blue jacket and the various people scatter to their respective places for the day. Emma walks with Killian to his ship.

There are people waiting for him. They are mostly strangers, with a few people he knows to be Knights of the Round Table scattered among them. Presumably these are the people who think they are his subjects.

“Is there any chance your magic can whisk us onto the ship Love?” he asks Emma. He can feel her body tense against his for a second.

“I haven’t used…  Not since… everything.”

“That’s alright. I guess we do this the old fashioned way,” Killian says. He squeezes her hand reassuringly before linking his arm with hers. “But I’m not facing my subjects alone,” he adds with a challenging quirk of his brow.

There is no way to sneak around the crowd so he sighs and steps over, hoping he and Emma can squeeze their way through the crowd without being noticed. It doesn’t work and everyone takes a knee for the man they think is king. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, Emma’s arm linked with his, trying to figure out how to politely send them away. They all appear to have things with them, boxes, sacks, pieces of furniture.

“Is that a cow?” Emma asks, finally breaking the silence. What she really means is, _why is there a cow on the docks by the Jolly Roger?_

“Yes Your Highness,” the woman says, bowing deeply to Emma without losing her hold on the rope holding the cow. She appears awestruck that Emma actually spoke to her. “A gift for His Majesty, the King of Camelot.”

“Where did these things come from?” Killian asks.

“From the camp Your Majesty,” the woman says, bowing again.

“They came over in the curse Your Majesty,” one of the knights clarifies. “Not much did, but whatever did is yours.”

Killian glances over at Emma for some sort of backup but she just shrugs. She has no more experience dealing with being treated like royalty than he does.

“But… why?” he asks. “All I did was pull a sword out of a rock. And I did it for the woman I love, not for a kingdom.”

“It was prophesized,” the knight says, as though that explains everything. “Your motives were not mentioned.”

“That’s how you ended up with Arthur,” Killian grumbles to Emma. “Okay, but why this?” he asks, waving around at the items. “You just said that the curse didn’t took little enough with you in the first place.”

“Yes Your Majesty,” the knight agreed, “but this is the only way we have in this realm to show fealty to our new King. And your ship should be decked out as befits your station.”

“This is Storybrooke,” Killian says with a sigh. “Shows of fealty aren’t necessary. Besides, you live in tents. Either sell this stuff to get started in a new life here or keep them and use them to furnish your own homes. I _like_ my ship. I have a comfortable place to live already. Use these for yourselves.”

His subjects stare at Killian with some combination of awe and the belief that he has gone completely mad.

“He means it,” Emma says gently. “Life is different in Storybrooke. And now that so many people have lived here for a while I suspect it will be a bit different in the Enchanted Forest too,” she added, so if the people of Camelot were ever returned to their homes, Killian would not have to deal with this whole thing over again.

People bow and thank him as they leave. None of them quite sure what to do with themselves, or with a king who didn’t seem to see himself as a king.  A few of them try to leave gifts anyway and Killian has to catch them and send them away with their own property.

“I have to get rid of this sword,” he says, seriously toying with the idea of throwing it overboard. In the end he decides to hide it in the captain’s quarters for now. He can always throw it overboard later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where credit is due: In addition to not owning OUaT and wishing I did, this story is heavily inspired by a post on Tumblr by Silverblood and bemusedbicycle and I may end up shamelessly stealing some ideas off that list. Without them, this story would likely never have happened.


	2. Broken

“I’ll head over to the Sheriff’s Station,” Emma says as they disembark from the Jolly Roger. She really doesn’t want to run into Belle, or worse, Rumplestiltskin. The Dark Swan held him prisoner and tried to use him in her plans and Emma isn’t ready to figure out the fallout from that. She knows she will have to someday, but not yet.

Killian flashes her a smile, understanding her reasons without her having to speak them. “I’ll pick up some books about Camelot and meet you there, Love.” He kisses her briefly as they part.

Fortunately the crowd has mostly dispersed and taken their possessions they tried to give him with them so he is able to make it to Gold’s Pawn Shop with only a few people stopping to bow to him. The door chimes as he enters and Rumplestiltskin turns to greet his customer.

“Ah,” he says, seeing Killian. He and Killian have seen each other a few times, and even been in discussions with larger groups about the Dark One, but they have thus far managed to avoid each other outside of larger groups, which has suited both of them just fine.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Killian says with a stiff nod of greeting, perfectly noncommittal about how this is going to go.

“Hook,” Rumplestiltskin replies with a similar stiff nod. “What brings you to my shop? I hear that Emma Swan has in fact defeated the darkness so I’m guessing you are not here out of concern for her.”

“Aye. She is herself,” Killian agrees. “You usually know things, even without… well…” He waves a hand. “I assume you are familiar with the rumors about a new King of Camelot.”

“Ah yes. The pirate who drew the sword from the stone.” It isn’t quite mockery in his voice, but it leans that way, like perhaps his instinct is to mock but is holding himself back.

“Aye. I was actually here looking for Belle.”

“She’s not here,” Rumplestiltskin says. There is an expectant silence for a while. “She went to pick up breakfast from Granny’s and will be back shortly,” he says finally.

“Thank you,” Killian replies, although his voice is a little strained when he says it.

Another awkward silence stretches between them.

“You and Belle are friends?” Rumplestiltskin asks, although it sounds half way between a question and a statement.

“Aye,” Killian says.

“You shot her,” Rumplestiltskin says flatly. It is half accusation, half  _how in this or any realm are you friends after that_?

“Aye,” Killian agrees. He considers bravado for a moment, some sort of weak defense, but refuses to allow the new and improved Rumplestiltskin bring out the worst in him the way the Crocodile did. “However, I’m sure you’ve notice the lass has a remarkably forgiving nature, even to those who have wronged her.”

There is another long silence between them, operating on the principle: if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

“So you’re king of Camelot now?” Rumplestiltskin asks after the silence has stretched on for some time.

“That’s… a bit up in the air at this point, but possibly.”

“I see. Even I have to admit you would be an improvement on their previous king.”

“That’s saying something,” Killian says.

“Oh yes. It’s saying that Arthur was a truly horrible king.” Even so, Rumplestiltskin almost smiles and Killian thinks he just might be at least partially joking.

Killian nearly smiles. “Aye. That he was.”

The door chimes to both their relief and Belle steps in, a bag slung over her shoulder, takeout food and coffee in her hands. She sets them down on the counter and kisses Rumplestiltskin lightly.

“Hello Killian. Is it true that the curse is broken?” she asks. “Completely broken? And is Emma alright?”

“Aye,” he says with a smile. “I think it will take her a little time to get back to her old self but she’s alright.”

“She’ll get there. Rumple was the Dark One for a lot longer,” she links her arm with his, “and he’s alright.”

“And also standing right here,” he grouses, but smiles.

“But you didn’t come here for that,” Belle says. “You came here for these, right?” She pulls several books about Camelot out of her bag.

“How did you know?” Killian asks.

“Because instead of being with Emma you were standing there awkwardly trying small talk with my husband. And the whole town is talking about Camelot’s new king.”

“Ahh, that,” Killian says with a grimace. “I did draw the sword, but I’m hoping to avoid that particular sentence.”

“Not the usual price of magic,” Rumplestiltskin comments dryly.

“Aye. And not one I was expecting.”

“But you would do it again the same way?”

“Of course. Emma is free and no one was injured in my effort to help her.”

“Then count yourself fortunate the price of magic was at such a discount,” Rumplestiltskin says. It isn’t an apology; he doesn’t say that he  _would_  do things differently, that the cost of his magic was too high, but Killian hears it there, between words unspoken. Killian nods.

“Aye.” He turns to Belle. “You have books on… well, possibly on my… kingdom?”

“Yes. I heard about it at Granny’s and thought you might drop in for some research.” She picks up one of the books and turns it over in her hands. “It turns out, since so much of the ‘progress’ in Camelot just unraveled, it may be very difficult to sort out the truth from Arthur’s lies. However, I think these books may be a good start.”

“Thank you. Now I promised to meet Emma at the Sheriff’s station so I should probably get going.”

“Of course,” Belle says. “I glad you have your true love back.”

“I could say the same to you.”

* * *

It’s getting worse. By the time he leaves Gold’s shop he is getting stopped by even citizens of Storybrooke. They don’t have the same subservience as the people who consider themselves his subjects and are mostly coming to speak with him out of curiosity.

He’s been a hero before. When he was in the navy centuries ago people showed a certain amount of respect to a man in an officer’s uniform. And he has helped save Storybrooke a few times. But both in the navy and in Storybrooke it was never about just him. There was the rest of the crew or Emma and Regina and Snow and David and everyone else pulling together to save the day. Killian likes being part of something bigger but this is different. Now people suddenly think he  _is_  something bigger.

Emma is seated at her desk in the Sheriff’s station when he arrives, a frown on her lovely features as she stares intently at the screen of her computer. “I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” David assures her. “We’re both pretty good at finding people.”

“You find people you love; mostly you find Mom. I find people with cellphones. Or with magic. I can’t find him without anything to go on.”

“This might help,” Killian says, setting the stack of books on the table. “What’s the phrase here, kill two birds with one stone? Although I’m somewhat unclear on it, as no one in this realm appears that interested in killing birds with rocks, and there is no shortage of stones if someone were to feel the urge.”

“Actually, knowledge of Camelot might help a lot,” Emma says, not bothering to explain the eccentricities of the English language. “Although finding someone in a town mostly unfamiliar to them is always trickier than finding someone in their hometown.”

“I’ll defer to you on this one,” David says. “I don’t have much experience finding people who are actively hiding from me. Or anywhere outside of the Enchanted Forest. Hook, didn’t you find Emma and Henry in New York?”

“Aye. She had her name in the big book with yellow pages and she wasn’t aware she was hiding, which made matters far simpler.”

The ringing phone interrupts them and David picks up. “Sheriff’s station. What can I help you with?” He nods for a moment. “Alright, we’re on our way.” He hangs up. “Apparently there’s some trouble down at the Camelot camp. Apparently people are panicking and committing petty crimes, thefts and vandalism and the like. Petty crime always goes up right after a massive curse breaks. Care to come with us and deal with your people, Your Majesty?”

“I’m not their king,” Killian objects. But even so he hops in the squad car with Emma and David.

He had been to the camp several times before the illusion collapsed and people were a little lost like they usually are when displaced through realms, but conditions were reasonable and the people were in good spirits for the most part. Now, all that has changed.

About half the people appear to be ill some way or another, perhaps illnesses long ignored because the sand left the sickness masked like everything else broken in Camelot. The camp itself has deteriorated also, the tents torn and tattered in the elements and the grass no longer growing underfoot.

But even so they are trying to keep up the pageantry and chivalry of the illusion. Someone spots Killian and blows an honest to goodness trumpet to herald his arrival.

“It really is a broken kingdom,” Killian says softly to Emma. They walk together into the camp. He turns to David and adds quietly “I don’t see any reason to take the vandals down to the station. I suspect a word from their king will be enough.”

“Alright,” David says. “Ask around about Arthur. I’ll go get our hooligan.”

Killian turns to the nearest person. “Pardon me, Lass.”

“Your Majesty,” she says, dropping to her knees and getting mud on her ragged dress. “Your Highness,” she adds to Emma.

“Um… right.” Getting treated like royalty is throwing him. He glances helplessly at Emma, who looks a bit thrown by it herself. “It’s alright, Lass,” he says gently. “You are allowed to look at me you know. And you don’t have to kneel. I just have a question.”

“I… anything, My King,” she says, glancing up at him briefly and not rising. And there it is again, the people of Camelot promising to do anything for their king. That kind of loyalty beyond reason killed Liam and it is tearing Camelot apart.

“I just need to know who is in charge of the camp,” he says gently, squatting beside her.

“Well… you of course, Your Majesty. We wait upon your decree.”

“Aye. Of course. But I haven’t been here giving any… decrees. Who has been administrating in my absence?”

“The knights, Your Majesty, from the tent in the center of camp.”

“Thank you, Lass,” he says. “That’s exactly what we needed to know.” He stands and offers his hand to help her to her feet. It isn’t even a decision really, just habit and a deep seated belief that it is the only reasonable thing to do when a woman is kneeling in the mud. She absolutely freezes. Finally, after a long moment of internal struggle she accepts his help to her feet.

“Alright,” Killian says to Emma. “Let’s go find the knights and figure out why they aren’t doing anything.” He offers his arm and together they walk toward the center of the camp.

Emma watches Killian as they walk.  She can feel his tension and growing anger as they walk through the shambles left of Camelot in Arthur’s wake. She doesn’t think she has ever seen him with this kind of quiet fury for anyone or anything other than the Dark One. She leans a little closer to him, lending him what strength she has.

“What is it?” she asks him quietly.

“Later,” he promises. “We have a job to do right now.”

She nods, studying his face again for some elusive answer.

The knights are lined up to greet their king when they reach the tent in the middle of the camp. “Your Majesty. Your Highness. We are truly honored by your presence.” The knight who spoke turns to a younger man. “Go get the throne for the king.’

“Belay that,” Killian says.

Everyone stares at him, confused.

“It means cancel that order. It’s a sailor’s term, which is something you’re likely to get used to if you insist on having me as your king. I don’t need a throne. I need answers. I didn’t come here to hold court like some kind of…”

“King?” Emma suggests with a smile.

“Well, yes. That’s not why I’m here. I came here to find out if anyone knows where Arthur is hiding.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Sir Morgan says. Violet’s father. Emma stills, not meeting the knight’s eyes. Killian takes her hand, twisting his fingers with hers, supporting her without ever needing to take his eyes off the knights. “We have searched and do not know where he would go in this strange land.”

“If Your Majesty would permit me,” another, younger knight says, coming to kneel before Killian and Emma. “I am Sir Percival and I am at your disposal. I would be honored to undertake this most important quest on your behalf.”

“Isn’t that what the sheriff’s station is for?” Emma asks. “To find crooks?”

“A sheriff is to attend to threats of and to the common man,” the knight says. “Knights are to concern themselves with the concerns of the king.”

“Which brings me to my other question,” Killian says. “What _is_ being done to help the people?”

The young knight is still kneeling, a little confused that no one has been given the quest.

“We’re doing our best to hold Camelot together,” Sir Morgan says, looking a little confused by the question.

“The people of Camelot or the illusion of Camelot?” Killian asks pointedly.

“The ideal of Camelot,” Percival says loftily.

“So the illusion,” Killian says. “The people look to you for leadership.”  _And they look to me_ , he thinks. “So  _do_  something. I don’t mean keep holding court and carrying out the illusion under this tent. I mean get medical attention for the people who are sick. Start thinking about where people are going to get shelter because it is starting to get cold, colder than you are used to from the illusion of Camelot I’ll wager. Stop protecting Arthur’s lies and start  _doing_  something.”

David heads over, half dragging a boy only a little older than Henry with him. “I found our vandal,” he says.

“We can have the stocks set up,” one of the knights offers helpfully.

“That really won’t be necessary,” Killian says, then turns to the boy. “Why were you painting on tents, Lad?”

The boy shrugs. “I ‘on’t know,” he mumbles.

Emma gives him a very sharp, very parental look and he quails a little. “You want to try again with the truth?”

The boy meets her gaze a little defiantly. “You wouldn’t understand because you aren’t from Camelot. It’s supposed to be  _bright_ ,” he says.

“You’re trying to rebuild the illusion, just like the knights,” Killian says. Said knights look a little nonplussed at being compared to an urchin. “Given how fond everyone seems of the illusion, most people probably won’t mind. Ask them what color they want their tents and only paint the ones people want painted. Or consider doing something to actually make things better.”

“What would that be?” the boy asks.

“I don’t know. I think you’ll figure it out.”

“Like a quest?”

“Aye, something like that.” He turns to the knights. “That goes for the lot of you. The illusion is broken. Stop living that lie. Do we have a royal treasury left?” he asks.

“No, Your Majesty. That was part of the illusion created by the sand,” Sir Morgan says.

“Alright. I can work around that. I’m sure I can convince Whale or somebody to make sure the sick and injured get some actual care. And apparently there’s someone here who knows how to use a phone so call the Sheriff’s station if you get any leads on Arthur’s whereabouts.”

* * *

“Anything useful?” David asks on their way back to the station.

“No. Were they telling the truth about not knowing where Arthur is?”

Emma nods. “I think so. They are definitely torn in their loyalties but I doubt he likes his chances if they know where he is.”

“He won’t like his chances when I know where he is,” Killian says darkly. Emma rests a hand on his arm, gently drawing his attention back to her and away from the erstwhile monarch.

* * *

“Are you alright with this?” Killian asks later when Emma takes him out on patrol with her and they are alone. “All this king nonsense?”

“Are  _you_?” Emma retorts. “Most people don’t have to be backed into a corner to accept a throne. I’ve only ever seen you this angry about one thing. What is it that’s bothering you so much?”

“I hate kings,” Killian says flatly, his fist clenched tightly.

“You get along fine with my family.”

“Aye, but that… I get along with a prince and a princess acting as sheriffs, Love.” He looks away, his jaw tightening. “The only king I had ever known got my brother killed for his blind loyalty. And then Arthur comes along and does nothing to change my opinion of kings. But the worst of it is that the more I think about it, the more I realize they were trying to do what was best for their kingdoms. I’m not sure how to be a good king and a good man. And I would rather be a good man.”

“Which will make you a better king than either of them,” Emma says, taking his hand and his hook in her hands. His clenched fist relaxes at her touch. “I don’t know about the king you knew from before, but Arthur chose being a good king over being a good man and he became neither.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Love. I certainly doubt I could be a worse king even if I actively tried.”

Emma smiles. “True. Imagine how much better you’ll be if you actually  _try_  to be better.”

“Aye,” he says with a grin. “But this started with me asking you.” His expression turns serious. “Are you alright with all this madness?”

“Of course. You’ll be a great king.”

“I’m not so sure, but that’s not what I need to know Love. I need to know how  _you_  feel about it. You’ve never precisely embraced your own royal heritage, Emma.”

“That’s not  _mine_ ,” Emma says. “That’s… something from my parents’ life, from before they had me. It’s the life I was supposed to have but didn’t. That is a part of their life that isn’t really mine. The closest I’ve ever felt to being part of it was when I was in the past. When I was with you.” Killian smiles and she continues. “But this isn’t some other part of your life that I’m not part of. If you don’t want to be king, that’s okay. I don’t think pulling a sword out or a stone and saving me should force you to do a job you don’t want, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea.“

“I’m glad to hear that, Swan.”

“And it’s not like you need my permission to become king.”

“Of course not.” He grins. “Apparently people don’t even need  _my_  permission to make me king.” He reaches over and takes her hand, twining his fingers together with hers, his expression growing serious. “But what you want is far more important to me than what anyone else wants, Emma, even what Camelot wants.”

She smiles, her face lighting up like the sun shining off the water. He had missed this, missed her, so much and it was almost overwhelming having her back again.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says. She looks out over the water for a moment. “I’m not usually very good at that under the best of circumstances.  _I_ thought I wanted to go back to New York,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “But I want to do some good, try to make up for everything I did as the Dark One. Maybe this is a good start.”

“Aye. Perhaps it is Love. It’s not exactly that picket fence we talked about.”

“My parents dreamed of turrets and ended up happily ever after with a picket fence. We talked about a picket fence but I see no reason we can’t be just as happy even if we end up with turrets.”


	3. The Peace of the Ocean

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Granny says when they head to the dinner for lunch. There is a refreshing lack of reverence in her tone. “And it’s good to see you back to sheriffing,” she adds to Emma and Killian can see that she is likewise relieved by Granny’s matter of fact approach to Emma’s brief stint as a villain. The older woman has a werewolf for a granddaughter; very little shocks or impresses her. “What can I get you folks?”

“The usual,” Emma says.

Killian frowns in thought for a moment. “Yes, and quite a bit more besides,” he says slowly. “You do catering, correct?”

“Having a gathering sometime soon?” Granny asks. “A coronation maybe?”

“ _NO_!” He sounds so horrified that Emma can barely stop herself from laughing. “I was thinking more along the lines of just providing dinner for the people in the Camelot camps who have no money, no food, and now no land to grow any, and somehow still think giving away their cows is a good idea.” He produces a few gold coins from a small pouch. “Do you accept Enchant Forrest coin, m’lady?” he asks with a grin.

“Don’t go tryin’ that pirate charm on me,” she says, but her smile says the opposite. “But as it happens, yes, we do accept gold coin. I can’t get that much food ready for lunch, but I can do dinner.”

“Sounds good. And we will take lunch to go,” he says very definitely, seeing how everyone in the dinner is either staring or very studiously not staring, some at him, some at Emma.

“Tell the truth,” Emma says quietly. “Your subjects are growing on you.”

“No. I’m just hoping to bribe them into not making me be their king.”

* * *

 

“Henry certainly seemed to approve of me being king,” Killian muses as they head down to the docks, lunch in hand, trying to avoid any and every one from Camelot.

Emma glances away.

“He knows you weren’t _you,_ Love,” Killian says gently.

“I broke his heart, deliberately. What kind of mother does that?”

“One who is possessed by the Dark One. It wasn’t you. Henry knows that the real you would do anything for him.”

“How do you know?” Emma asks.

“You saw him last night, Love. He hardly seemed like he was holding on to what happened before. Besides, we talked about it a time or two. He came and asked me to teach him more about sailing shortly after we got back to Storybrooke.”

“After I… After he saw…?”

“Aye.  I know how much peace the sea has brought to me over the years and I thought it would give Henry a measure of the same.”

“Did it help?” she asks very quietly.

“I believe so. I know it helped me.”

“That’s how it was when I moved to Storybrooke. I kept telling myself I was doing it to help Henry, and that was true, and I _was_ helping him. But it was helping me even more.”

“Aye. He’s a remarkable lad like that. He took to sailing with me oft times after school and I soon discovered that his companionship was a much needed bright spot in dark days. That reminds me, I should text David and Regina, let them know we are picking him up from school today.”

“So you’re part of the ‘pick up Henry from school’ rotation?” Emma asks with a smile.

“Aye,” Killian says, rubbing a hand behind his ear. “At the time the other available people were Regina, who does actually have to Mayor sometimes and was trying to be the temporary Savior too, and his grandparents who are sort of running the sheriff’s station. So I ended up volunteering when he would come sailing.”

“Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do,” he says with a shrug.

“That’s not true. You haven’t settled for the least for as long as I’ve known you. I mean it. Thank you for being there for Henry when I wasn’t. The last thing I want for him is to ever feel what it is to be lost.”

“That’s never gonna happen, Love. There are too many people looking out for him. And for you,” he adds.

“But I _was_ lost. For months, I was lost.”

“You were briefly misplaced, Love. There were too many people looking for you for you to be truly lost.”

“Briefly misplaced?” she asks with a teary smile.

“Aye. That happens to your family all the time,” he says with a wave of his hand. “People briefly misplace each other, but they always find each other.”

“You really think Henry will be able to forgive me?”

“Aye. I know he will, Swan. And if you don’t know how to approach him, you could follow the tried and true Storybrooke method of going on an adventure with him. It has worked for pirates and Evil Queens looking for a second chance in this town. I see no reason it can’t work for you. I have some treasure buried off the coast a ways, far from prying eyes, which I need to retrieve, seeing as I am apparently meant to run a starving nation with no farmland, no resources and no treasury.”

“It could give me time to ease back in to… everything.”

“Aye, Love. That’s the idea.”

* * *

 

Henry spots them standing by the yellow bug and jogs over.

“Hey Mom. Hey Killian,” he says, tossing his backpack into the car, as though the two of them picking him up were the most normal thing in the world.

“How was school?” Killian asks. It’s so parentalthat it makes Emma smile.

“Meh,” Henry says with a shrug. Killian raises an eyebrow and, to Emma’s amazement, Henry continues without needing further prompting. “It was okay I guess. We aren’t starting on Enchanted Forest history until next semester so ‘meh’ fits until then.”

“You do realize _this_ is the strange and exotic land to some of us,” Killian points out with a smile.

“I guess. How is it being back to sheriffing?” he asks Emma. “Caught Arthur yet?”

“Not yet,” she says with a smile. “Mostly we’ve been dealing with petty crimes among Killian’s people.”

“They aren’t my people,” Killian objects. “That said, I do need a crew to go retrieve some buried treasure to fund their treasury. How would you like to be my crew this afternoon, Henry?”

“Actual buried pirate treasure? Cool!” He pauses for a moment, glancing over at Emma. “Can Mom come too? The Jolly Roger is a good place to forget your problems and she’s got more than most to forget.”

Killian flashes Henry a smile, proud of the lad for considering how difficult this is on Emma as well as himself. “Aye. Of course, Lad. You know you and Emma are both always welcome on my ship.”

* * *

 

Emma leans back against the railing on the deck of the Jolly Roger and watches Killian and Henry get underway. She had of course seen Killian commanding a crew on the Jolly Roger before, especially on the way to and from Neverland, but that was different. He was watching everyone like a hawk because no one knew what they were doing for the most part. Here, that changed. He was giving direction to Henry and simply assuming they would get done. And Henry was loving it and keeping up easily with his tasks.

Emma knows her way around the Jolly Roger but this is different, this is more than her sailing knowledge.

“Are you gonna actually be king?” Henry asks when they are a little ways from the harbor and there is less work to be done.

“I don’t know, Lad. Possibly.”

“They need a king,” Henry says. “I asked Violet about it.” Emma looks away. “Hey, she’s fine,” Henry says, noticing. “And I know it wasn’t really you, and so does she. I doubt she would really want to come over and hang out with you just yet,” he admits. “But she’s cool.”

“I’m sorry, Henry,” she says in a broken voice.

“I forgive you. You _do_ realizethat most of the people I love are ex-villains, right? We’re gonna be just fine, Mom.”

She smiles. The guilt and fear are still lurking, but there is hope too.

“Anyway,” Henry continues, “she says that the kingdom was already pretty broken to begin with, but that it got worse because no one could see the problems under the dust. And basically the magic of Excalibur can help but that’s not the biggest part. They’re lost, stuck in a strange land and their king turned out to be a villain. They’re on the verge of panic. They need hope, and that’s what a king is to Camelot. Without hope, it keeps breaking.”

“I see,” Killian says with a sigh. He pulls out a map. “But we can worry about that after we get them a treasury.” He sets to teaching Henry how to read the coded pirate map he made. Emma moves to take the helm, where she can keep the ship on an even keel and still watch her boys at work.

“So are all pirate maps like this one?” Henry asks.

“Oh, no, Lad. Pirates are a distrustful lot as a rule, so every captain has his own code. This one is mine.”

“So I can read all your treasure maps?”

“Aye, Lad.”

“So do you teach it to all your crew?” Henry asks.

“Of course not, Lad. As I said, pirates are distrustful. If the crew knows where the treasure is, what do they need a captain for?”

Henry crinkles his nose. “I guess that makes sense.”

Emma laughs when they reach their destination because _of course_ he managed to find an honest to goodness deserted island off the coast of Maine. It isn’t much of an island, but enough to bury treasure. “You’re so much of a hero these days, half the time I forget you’re a pirate too,” she says with a smile.

“Aye, Love. That’s the idea.”

“Then you turn up with Treasure Island in Storybrooke’s backyard.”

“Well, if I got rid of a _ll_ the piracy, people might be disappointed, Love.”

“We might at that,” she agrees. “Hang on. You know what Treasure Island is?”

“Aye. Henry took it upon himself to make certain I knew exactly what this realm expects of pirates. I think I might have even forgiven him for making me watch that wretched Disney version Peter Pan,” he adds, flashing a grin at Henry.

After revealing that he has a tiny island technically within the confines of Storybrooke, it doesn’t surprise her at all that Killian has shovels and pickaxes on board. What does surprise her, though perhaps not as much as it would have before seeing them sailing together, is that Henry knows exactly where they are.

It takes them very little time to reach the place where he buried the treasure because there is very little island to cover. With all three pitching in they manage to fairly easily unearth the trunk. Killian jumps down into the hole and opens it.

“Behold, the Camelot treasury,” he says, opening the chest. It contains a fairly impressive combination of jewelry and assorted coins made out of a variety of precious metals that gleam in the fading light of day.

“Wow!” Henry says. “You have all of that?”

“Aye, Lad. And more besides. This is just enough to get Camelot… thriving is probably too much to hope at this point, but to get it somewhat functional.”

“Would you like to take command on the way back to harbor?” Kilian asks Henry after they stow the trunk on board.

“Can I?” Henry’s eyes light up at the offer.

“Aye. Go for it.”

Henry takes the helm from Emma and proceeds to give Killian and Emma both directions, Killian occasionally correcting his wording but not having to correct the general content of the orders. When they are just barely in sight of shore, he leaves Henry at the helm and moves to stand behind Emma, staring out over the water, arms wrapped around her waist, head resting against her shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispers, like it’s a secret only they share.

“I love you too,” she replies in the same whisper.

After everything, there is a relief in not having to worry about any problems, their own, or Storybrooke’s, or Camelot’s, for even a few hours.


	4. House Warming

Chapter 4 – House Warming

He is awakened that night, technically the next morning, but he refuses to misuse the word morning before the sun rises, on the Jolly Roger by a text from David.

 

> **e left her phone. she wit u?**

It still amazes him how David, who has cursed memories and associated skills, not to mention two hands, would be so incapable of properly composing actual words with his phone. Killian has no such cursed education and only one hand, and occasionally even accidentally sent texts to all of his contacts. Never anything truly bad, but he did accidentally invite them all to Granny’s for lunch, which they actually showed up for because they thought it was some sort of war council on the latest threat. But he has never been in so much of a rush that he would not write out an entire word.

 

> **I will find her.**
> 
>  

> **of course**

He wonders briefly how David would have reacted if she  _was_  with him at this hour.

She is not at the bench where he found her before so perhaps she doesn’t mean to be found. He avoids the Camelot camp, in no mood to deal with his subjects now. He finds her outside of the house she acquired as the Dark One, sitting with her back leaned against the white picket fence, her knees pulled to her chest, staring up at it.

“Your parents were worried, Love,” he says gently. “You vanish in the middle of the night. Tends to worry people.” He sits beside her on the ground, though it is wet with the morning dew.

“So they sent you to find me?” she asks. But she is an open book and he hears the question behind it, a lost girl wanting to know who is looking for her.

“I offered,” he says. “You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” she asks.

“The fact that could be at home with people who love you but instead were outside sitting alone on the ground in the wee hours of morning, staring up at an empty house. You appeared happy when we parted.”

“I had a nightmare.” She doesn’t look at him, still seemingly focused on the house before her. “The darkness was back, whispering to me, telling me things. I stole your heart. I didn’t crush it, I just… kept it. I was tired of being alone so I thought I could keep you by my side.”

“You don’t have to take my heart to keep me by your side, Love,” he says gently. He reaches out and takes her hand in his, pressing it against his chest to feel his heart beat. “Because this heart belongs to you already.”

“Killian, I… I know this time was just a dream, but I did so many terrible things.”

“That wasn’t you, Love,” he murmurs.

“But it  _was_  me,” she says hollowly, still staring away from him, up at the house. “I like your version better, I like the illusion, and a part of me just wants to let you go on loving the illusion. But it was me. I wanted most of the same things, the darkness just made it easier to get caught up. This isn’t like when Cora or Zelena ran around wearing other people’s faces. The darkness didn’t replace me. And it didn’t go away, not completely.”

“The darkness is gone,” he says gently.

“No, it’s not,” she snaps, her tone sounding, for just a second, like the Dark One, before her voice breaks and she sounds hollow and lost once more. “You know what my first thought was, when I couldn’t sleep? It was to go make more dreamcatchers. The Emma you knew, the Emma you loved, didn’t have  _any_  darkness. I mean, it’s not like I have the Crocodile in my head anymore, but it left a greasy stain behind.”

He stares at her for a long time, his heart breaking because he doesn’t know how to persuade her. “I know you Emma, and that wasn’t you. Maybe there was some shadow of the real you left, enough to make her want some of the same things, enough eventually to turn back, but she was more Dark One than she was you. And now maybe you have more darkness than you’re used to, but this is  _you_. And there is nothing you can say or do that will stop me from loving you.”

“Except being the Dark One.” She tries to say it as a joke but he can hear the heartbreak seeping through at the edge of her voice.

 _I loved you._  At the time he had meant for it to haunt her, had needed something that would break through to the real Emma, even a little. But it hangs in the air between them still.

“Even that. I never stopped loving you, Emma. I wasn’t sure how much  _you_  was left, but I never stopped loving you. But I have seen what happens when someone says they love the Dark One unconditionally.”

“It was complicated,” she says sadly.

“Aye. Life generally is. You needed to know that there was a choice to be made between the darkness and love, even… even though saying it broke my heart. This, however, is not complicated. I love you, Emma. I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love you until the last beat of my heart.”

She searches his face with tear filled eyes. “You’re telling the truth,” she says, awe in her voice and a smile spreading on her face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

“Aye,” he says seriously. He puts his arms around her, drawing her closer to him. “You’re home Emma.”

“Here? I was trying to decide whether to use magic or lighter fluid to burn it down,” she says. “And I know if I do I won’t miss it.”

“I missed _you_ ,” he says. “And I don’t mean the house. It could be if you wanted to live here, but I don’t mean the house.”

“I know,” she murmurs, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I hope you will consider giving the house a second chance, Love. It might be able to do some good.”

“And by the house you mean me?” she asks.

“No actually I mean the house.” He flashes her a smile. “I like your version. It’s poetic and romantic and all, but I happen to know a bunch of people living in tents.”

“And here I was, plotting arson on a perfectly good house.”

“And that sounds like making extra work for yourself,” he says with a smile. “I mean, you arresting yourself for arson would probably be ridiculous paperwork.”

She smiles at him. “You’d be amazed at the things we have standardized paperwork for in Storybrooke. You really want to turn the house into Camelot?”

“It’s not large enough for all of Camelot, but basically, yes. And we can move a few more families into the shed out back, assuming you don’t still have dreamcatchers there, and if it gets too cold we can bundle some more people up in the caves bellow.”

“The caves are full of gravel,” Emma points out.

“Aye, but I happen to know some dwarfs who could clear that out forthwith, Love. We have a sheriff’s station for miscreants so we don’t need to make it into a castle dungeon so we can move people to live down there too.”

“For someone who claims not to want a throne you are taking this whole ‘king’ thing very seriously.”

“Aye. They need someone who will. This isn’t about thrones. It’s about the fact that, whether I like it or not, these people need someone to keep them from freezing, and they are convinced that person should be me.”

“They  _are_  pretty convinced,” she agrees, still staring up at the house.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks. “Because if you need something else, I’m right here. What do you need?”

“I don’t know what I need,” she admits. She pulls back enough to turn and meet his eyes. “But if I figure it out, I’ll tell you. I promise. In the meantime, maybe you’re right about giving the house a second chance. Want a tour of your new kingdom?”

“It’s not my kingdom,” he objects, but rises to his feet and offers her his hand.

“My house, you kingdom, what’s the difference?” She accepts his hand, rising with him. “I meant to live here with you,” she says as they walk inside. “It was supposed to be home.”

“I know, Love,” he says gently. “It’s a lovely house.”

“It’s cold,” she says, looking around at the stark black and white decorations.

“It could use a personal touch,” he admits. “It looks a little like the mayor’s office.”

“It’s not like there is some sort of interior decorating magazine for villains,” she says, managing a smile. “And I wasn’t interested in the cluttered shop model.”

“Probably a good call,” he agrees. “And the people living in tents won’t care about the decorations.”

“True,” she admits. “How many people are going to live here?”

“I don’t know. I think we should give the rooms out by families rather than a certain number of people. It’ll be cramped quarters, but no worse than they are accustomed to in the tents. I’ll try to get a larger table from Gold’s shop so everyone can eat.”

“I never planned on more than you and Henry here,” she says, staring at the small table. “However, there is a large pantry, which will help.”

“Aye. This is going to work. I mean, it’s just half a dozen families here, but large families, with the very old and the very young. I’ll consult with Whale to determine who needs in out of the elements the most. It’s a start.”

“You know, for the first time… this is starting to look like… like it could actually be a home.”

“That it does,” he agrees. “If you don’t mind I’ll keep a room here as a sort of… office I suppose, so if I absolutely can’t avoid doing king stuff, I’ll have somewhere to do it. And it’ll give you a place too, if you decide you need some distance from the loft, instead of sitting on the ground and staring up at the empty house.”

 

* * *

 

 

Killian flags down one of the knights of Camelot on their way back to the loft and waves him over. “Do me a favor.”

“Anything Your Majesty,” the man says, kneeling before him. Killian has the uncomfortable feeling that the man means it and he has a sudden memory of Griff’s fate, of loyalty beyond reason. And of Liam, and of loyalty beyond reason. Emma’s hand on his arm grounds him, drawing him back from the memories. “Tell the Camelot camp that I am holding court on my ship tomorrow at noon.”

“And by the camp he means everyone, commoners and nobles alike,” Emma clarifies.

“Aye. I need to know what everyone needs from their king. I promise nothing but I need a better understanding of the situation.”

“Does this mean you are taking the throne?” Emma asks as the knight hurries away to carry out his liege’s command.

“No. It means I’m figuring out what they actually need of me and I am giving them a last chance to change their mind by letting them know exactly what they are getting in me. I hope you will consider standing with me tomorrow,” he says, turning to face her.

“What’s the matter, Captain? Afraid to face your subjects alone?”

“Aye,” he says with a grin. “I might need backup to keep them from crowing me on the spot.” Emma laughs. “But that’s not the whole of it,” he says, his tone growing serious. “I want you to stand at my side because I want them to know the kind of ruler I would be and, should I fail to dissuade them today, I hope not to rule them alone. Your name is on the sword too, Emma. This should be your kingdom as much as mine.”

She smiles, joy lighting up her face. “I guess it’s only fair,” she agrees. “You saved me. I won’t make you pay the price for that alone.” They walk a little ways further, arm in arm. “Hang on. What does one wear to a king selecting? Because I don’t have any ball gowns.”

“This isn’t a ball. The idea is to wear something that you’re comfortable in, something that is  _you._  I’m going full pirate. They should know what they are actually getting, and it isn’t couple raised to royalty.”

“You just hope that if I wear jeans they won’t want to risk having me for a queen,” she teases. She realizes what she said and glances away, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, but she doesn’t take it back.

“Aye. You’ve uncovered my nefarious scheme.” He grins. “But I mean it, Swan. They should know who we actually are, not the royals they seem to imagine.”


End file.
